


we go slow when we first make our moves

by cherryvanilla, morphosyntactic



Category: Toy Story (Movies)
Genre: College, Fist Fights, Homophobic Language, House Party, M/M, Marijuana, Protectiveness, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Small Towns, Teenagers, Winter Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphosyntactic/pseuds/morphosyntactic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sid lets out a low whine and his nails dig into Andy’s back while he kisses him harder, enough to bruise. Andy wants it all, will take any mark Sid can leave on him, enough to carry with him back to school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we go slow when we first make our moves

**Author's Note:**

> Additional content notes: there's sex under the influence of some weed/alcohol, the homophobic language comes from a kid at the party, and he's also one part of the fist fight.
> 
> Thanks to Amanda for beta and Chels for giving me the okay to finish this. Hope you like the rest of it, bb! <3 
> 
> Title by Brand New.

Being back home is weird. 

Seeing his mom and Molly is awesome, and then kind of annoying; and then Andy feels bad about being annoyed, because it’s his _mom and Molly_. He loves them. It’s just that he’s lived away from home for months now, with a roommate who spends more time at his girlfriend’s than in their dorm room. Andy’s used to his own space, and being back in his childhood bedroom with his young, clumsy drawings of Woody and Buzz still tacked up on his corkboard beneath his high school diploma and the college acceptance letter also pinned there feels embarrassing and like home in equal measures. 

Weird. 

Still, he’s back home for Christmas, and he feels a little guilty about skipping out on a home cooked meal to go to a party. Andy knows it’s only been the two of them and that it’s been strange for them, too; his mom has told him how much she misses him, and Molly tells him it’s way better without him being stupid and gross all over the place, but Andy knows how to decode sister speak. But he hasn’t seen his high school friends in months either, and Andy’s going to the best college out of all of them. He’s not going to show off, exactly. He’s going because he wants to see people, but he’s also proud of what he’s doing with his life.

His mom gives him a six pack of beer to take – since Andy’s walking on foot to the party as it's right down the block – and some of the guys he used to play soccer with have pooled together to get some Jack Daniels. They tease Andy about not being able to handle it, but college has helped a _lot_ – he’s not the same guy who threw up all morning after their post-high school graduation party. 

He can handle his booze. He’s just _warm_ right now, because there are a lot of people at this party, and the heats up because, well, winter in Ohio. Andy’s had a lot to drink pretty quickly, so he’s just going to kind of take a moment to himself. He saw people smoking in the backyard earlier, so he doesn’t feel too weird about going out there.

There are a few people smoking cigarettes on the back porch and a smaller gathering out near the trees by the swingset, which Andy assumes is where the potheads are. Andy first tried cigarettes when he was 14, in the middle of the woods with Jack Simpson and Nick Turner. He’d coughed up a storm and when he got home headed straight for the bathroom where he washed his hands and sprayed himself with cologne. 

His mom took one look at him and knew. “Next time don’t try so hard, sweetie,” she said. Which was why she gave him beer tonight. She’d rather know what he was getting into these days, as opposed to him trying to sweep it under the rug. 

Still, he hasn’t told her that he’s grown a fondness for marijuana. Andy doubts she’d care, is pretty sure she smoked a lot during her own college days, based on some of the few stories she’s told Andy about herself and his dad and their Peace, Love, and Understanding ways while in school. 

Andy bypasses the smokers on the porch and walks slowly down toward the treeline. He tugs at the collar of his flannel, undoing one of the buttons, still feeling a little flushed from the heat of house (obviously still not the alcohol at all) despite the chill in the night air. He’s not sure who’s out here, not quite close enough to pick any faces out of the shadows, but he figures he’ll probably know someone.

Andy wonders if they’ll be surprised to see him out here. Probably – he was never the kind of kid to do anything that might get him into trouble. He kind of likes that, though. It feels good to have gone away, to come back home and have changed even just a little. 

When Andy gets closer his eyes are drawn to the guy who appears to be supplying the joints. His head is down as he digs into the bag. His hair falls over his brow. It’s stringy, maybe even dirty. He’s wearing black hoodie and ripped jeans. When he looks up, Andy finds his eyes locked with Sid Phillips. 

Sid’s eyes widen at first, until a small smirk tugs at his lips. 

“Andy!” someone yells and Andy pulls his eyes away. He recognizes the kid as someone from his old soccer team.

“Hey Matt,” Andy says, bestoying a fistbump when he holds his hand out. 

“You do this shit now?” Matt asks, nodding to Sid and his bag. 

Andy meets Sid’s eyes, who is still looking at him with that smirk. Sid was a year older, a troublemaker, and everything 15 year old Andy would have wanted, if 15 year old Andy had seriously entertained his rebellious stage. He hadn’t. His rebellious stage had consisted of smoking in the stairwell, cutting class, and gratifying the school blacktop. It lasted literally one afternoon and he got detention for a week. His mom had been disappointed. Andy had been embarrassed. Andy learned pretty quick he didn’t have the stamina to be a rebel. Sadly, his crush on Sid and _his_ rebellious ways lasted a lot longer than one afternoon. 

Back then, he hadn’t recognised it as a crush. Sid had been a scary kid that had quickly translated to cool, and Andy had been a painfully self-aware teen, one who was routinely held up as an example to other kids. But looking back – well. A lot of his crushes since then have been on dark haired, confident guys. 

“Sometimes,” he says with a shrug, making himself turn back to Matt. “College, you know?”

Matt laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good for you. Hey, we’ll catch up later, yeah? Come find me, I’ll see you inside.”

“See ya.” Andy waves as Matt heads back inside, even though Matt’s already got his back to him. It’s dorky; he knows that, and he _knows_ Sid is laughing at him. He doesn’t have to look at him to see the smirk still there.

He looks anyway.

“Yeah, good for you,” Sid echoes, softly mocking. He huffs out a laugh, though, and Andy’s not sure, but he doesn’t think it’s a mean sound. The mocking isn’t directed Andy’s way. “Look who grew up, huh?”

Andy shrugs, and tries to play it cool as he says, “You got enough there for me?” 

Sid’s smirk widens. “I suppose I could spare one. Makes a good story, anyhow.” 

“How so?” Andy asks, suppressing a shiver as their fingers brush when Sid passes him the joint. 

Sid shoots him a blank look. “Please, smoking up with Andrew Davis, high school valedictorian? That’s one for the ages.” 

“You make me sound like Jesse Spano,” Andy mutters, accepting Sid’s lighter, their fingers brushing once more. 

His words startle a laugh out of Sid. “Does that make me AC Slater? He was ripped, man.” 

Andy laughs and then takes a hit. Sid finishes distributing joints to the rest of the group. Andy notices they pay him 5 bucks each before dispersing to the rest of the yard. 

“Oh,” Andy says, voice thick with smoke as he blows it out. He digs in his pocket for his wallet. 

Sid waves him off. “On the house.” 

Andy raises one eyebrow, but lets it go. They stand and smoke in silence, Sid lighting up as well. 

“Didn’t really expect you to be at a party like this,” Andy says, unthinkingly, and then winces. He’s aware he can sometimes come off a little – stuck up. He didn’t mean to imply Sid wasn’t, like, good enough for this party. 

Sid just chuckles, blowing out smoke away from Andy in slow, deliberate rings. “I used to fuck around with O’Brien’s older brother. Parties like this are an excellent way to score some extra cash off bored college freshman home for the holidays.” 

Andy blinks, both at Sid’s words and the – casual _ease_ of them. 

Andy’s never come out to someone just like that. He has to gauge them, see how comfortable he feels. Weigh the possible rejection with everything else. 

“An opportunist,” Andy says with appreciation, even as his heart pounds. 

He wants to say something back, like ‘hey I dig dudes, too’ but he can’t think of a way that wouldn’t come off as pathetic. 

Sid’s smirking at him again, but it’s a little softer around the edges this time. 

“You know it, Davis.” 

And fuck, if those words on Sid’s lips don’t sound flirty as hell.

Andy is in way over his head here. He inhales deeply to cover the moment, then has to swallow down a cough, feeling his cheeks go warm as he exhales a long stream of smoke.

“So,” he says uselessly, and Sid shoots another smirk his way. 

“So,” Sid repeats. Andy watches him smoke, the hollowing of his cheeks, the sweep of his eyelashes as his eyes briefly close. “How's college life treating ya?” He holds his joint up, nodding to it. “Other than corrupting the neighborhood good boy.”

Andy rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “Not bad. Columbus isn’t like – terribly exciting, but still a lot bigger than here, you know? I’ve definitely gotten a feel for city life,” is what Andy says. 

He doesn’t say, _there’s a ton of gay clubs. I go. I was grinding up against someone last week and I didn’t even know his name. Have you ever done that? Is there even a gay club in this town?_ even though he desperately wants to. 

Sid raises an eyebrow. “You talk like you’re reading from some script.” 

Andy frowns at him, takes a hit because he can’t think of anything to say. 

Sid continues while Andy’s still exhaling. “Tell me something real, Davis.” 

Andy flushes, mind racing. He wonders why Sid even cares what his first semester away was like. He wonders why he’s still even talking to him. 

“It’s _weird_ being back here,” he says. His tone is maybe a bit too honest and open, but hey. Sid said something real. “All of this, you know?” A part of Andy regrets saying that, because Sid’s never gone away and come back. Sid _doesn’t_ know, and Andy wishes he didn’t blush so easily.

Sid gives him a long, surveying look. “Then get out of here,” Sid says, but - it doesn’t sound dismissive.

Andy shakes his head to himself, as if that could clear the sudden fog around him that has nothing to do with the weed he’s smoking. “You ever think about it?” he asks, wondering if he’s just asking for trouble, but needing the focus _off him_. “Getting out of here?” He adds the last part softly, so Sid knows he really, really isn’t trying to be some higher-than-mighty douchebag. 

Sid scoffs and looks down at the ground, blowing out smoke before meeting Andy’s eyes again. “Probably not. Probably be born and die in this town. Ain’t got all the _ambition_ you do, Davis.” 

Andy snorts. “Shut up.” He leans back against the tree behind him, surprised when Sid joins, their shoulders touching. From this new angle, he only has to turn his head to see Sid’s profile as he stares out at the yard. Andy’s pulse stutters as his eyes travel down to Sid’s mouth, taking in the shape of it. 

“You, uh, still do the garbage route?” Andy asks, tearing his gaze away. His joint is done and he tosses it on the ground, wishing he still had something to do with his hands. 

“Didn’t think you paid attention,” Sid says, and Andy’s pretty sure he means it come off as unaffected, but there’s a softness behind the words he can make out, if he digs deep enough. Maybe because Sid suddenly feels, suddenly _is_ , so much closer. 

Andy shrugs. As he does, his arm brushes Sid’s; he doesn’t move. He’s not sure what to say. _Yeah, it was kind of hard to miss the hot guy suddenly collecting the trash?_

“Yeah, I still do it,” Sid carries on, saving Andy from scrambling around for a reply. “It’s a piece of shit job, but it pays the bills. Meant I could get outta my - meant I could move into my own place.”

“You have your own place?” Andy asks. He can’t keep the curiosity from slipping into his voice, and he hopes Sid doesn’t pick up on it. “Like, with roommates?” he adds quickly. That’s pretty safe territory - Andy has his own stories there, from college.

“No.” Sid’s voice is low. He sounds faintly proud of himself, but there’s a hint of a challenge there too, and when Andy glances at him he’s looking at Andy, a soft smirk on his face. “All mine.”

“Oh,” Andy replies, mouth suddenly dry. “That’s – that's cool. I really wanted a single at school but they were all booked up. Plus it was like, 400 more a semester or something and my scholarship doesn't cover everything, so…” Andy’s well aware he's rambling, nervous energy thrumming through his body. Maybe from Sid’s proximity or the weed or thinking about Sid bringing O’Brien’s brother back to his place and the two of them–

Andy really needs air and yet he's got nothing _but_ air, the night chilly around them. He shivers, his flannel suddenly feeling like nothing more than a t-shirt, and hears Sid snort. 

“You're a disaster, Davis, how’re you even surviving college?” 

Andy opens his mouth in protest and then snaps it shut when he realizes Sid is unzipping his hoodie (Nine Inch Nails, he can see now. Makes a lot of sense) and holding it out for him. 

Sid’s got on a white Sex Pistols t-shirt beneath it and if Andy’s mouth was dry before it's the fucking Sahara now. 

“Won't you be–”

Sid waves him off. “Just fuckin’ take it.” 

“Um, okay,” Andy says, feeling more lanky and clumsy than usual as he extends his arm. Their fingers brush and Andy bites his lip lest he moan at something that fucking trivial. “Thanks, man,” he mumbles, quickly putting on the hoodie. It’s a little short in the arms. Andy’s got at least three inches on Sid and his limbs tend to go on forever. He’s going to try out for track in the spring. He thinks about telling Sid that, wonders if he’d even care. 

Sid’s finished his own joint and is now pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He tilts it to Andy, who just shakes his head, lips pressed together. Sid snorts, but it doesn’t sound cruel. If anything, it sounds amused, fond. 

Andy zips up the hoodie, the fabric pulling tight around his shoulders. It’s warm where every other part of him is cold. It smells like Sid, like something from his childhood which really wasn’t all that long ago. Sometimes it feels like forever. 

“I’d say ‘penny for your thoughts’, but they’re probably not worth that much,” Sid says on a long exhale. 

“Hey,” Andy protests. 

Sid looks at him, the fucking patent smirk still in place. “Also it's a stupid saying. Who wants a penny, anyway?” 

Andy shrugs, leaning back against the tree again. “When I was a kid with my piggy bank, even pennies were exciting.” 

Sid huffs, shaking his head. “Man, I dunno if I was ever that young.” He drags his hand over his face, his cigarette hanging down by his side in a loose grip. 

Andy wants to taste the nicotine on Sid’s fingertips almost as much as he wants to wipe that far-off, wistful look off of his face. 

“You were creative,” Andy says on impulse. His jaw snaps shut as soon as the words leave his mouth, though, pinned under Sid’s sharp gaze. 

“Oh?” Sid snorts, raising an eyebrow. This time it the noise does sound mean. “Whaddya you know?” 

Andy looks away, toward the house. There’s no one out with them anymore. “I saw you a few times. Through the fence, before I moved. You were – I just mean you had a good imagination. So. You know, creative.” 

“Creative,” Sid repeats duly. “That’s one word for it, I supose.” 

The sentence is loaded, like this has been something he’s gone over in his head time and time again. 

Andy shuffles his feet, folds the arms that are covered by Sid’s hoodie over his chest, almost wishing for a moment he did actually smoke something other than weed. At least he’d have something else to do than focus on how soft the fabric is and think about what it must feel like pressed up against Sid’s own body.

Sid sighs loudly and Andy dares to look at him again. He’s got one arm on the trunk of the tree beside Andy’s head, suddenly way too close. When did he get so close? 

Sid huffs out a laugh, taking another long drag, and shakes his head. “You’re a weird one, Davis.” 

“And that’s not bad,” Andy replies, challenge in his voice.

Sid looks at him then, really looks at him, and Andy’s shiver this time has nothing to do with the cold. 

“Guess not,” Sid muses, voice quieter than Andy’s ever heard it. He keeps staring at him as he takes another drag, once again slow and deliberate, making like he’s about to blow the smoke in Andy’s face, but turning his face to the side at the last minute. 

Andy giggles, the weed finally kicking in a bit so that he’s reaching that loose, happy feeling, rather than just feeling a bit unfocused and fuzzy. 

Sid smiles, all sharp teeth and even sharper eyes, and tosses the cigarette butt on the ground, leaning one shoulder on the tree. His hand lifts as if in slow motion, or at least that’s how Andy tracks it. He swallows, loud and thick in his own ears, eyes drifting shut for a moment when Sid’s fingers drag the zipper to the hoodie down, just an inch. 

“You look good in that.” His voice is barely a breath, which is fitting since Andy can’t really breathe right now. 

Andy’s eyes open slowly and he’s caught up in Sid’s own immediately. 

“Yeah?” he croaks out, feeling like he’s got no game at all. Like he hasn’t been able to get guys to kiss him in clubs and against walls of buildings and in cars. Like all the lost time he’d been trying to make up for happened to someone else because nothing’s ever felt this new, this real, than this very moment here with Sid. 

He watches Sid’s eyes go dark, a flare of heat there that could engulf Andy if he let it. He teases the zipper up and down and back up again, the movements slow, methodical. 

“Yeah,” Sid whispers, before leaning in close. “And if I were cheesier, I’d say something like ‘you’d look even better out of them’, but no one really says that shit, do they?” 

A guy last month tried to buy Andy a drink with the line, “I think I’ve seen you somewhere before, but it was probably just in my dreams.” He was a 30-something lawyer in a cheap suit with a mullet. Andy’s had his fair of cheesy. This – was anything but that. 

“You’d be surprised,” Andy says in reply, feeling a lazy, happy smile form on his face. 

“Hmmm,” Sid hums, breath tickling the shell of Andy’s ear. “Still, not really my style.” 

“What is your style?” Andy asks, unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of Sid’s hip pressed up against his own, Sid’s mouth so close to his ear. He hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate for the answer as he feels. 

Andy lets out a soft, unsteady moan when Sid finally closes the distance, tugging his earlobe between his teeth. “Blowing you in the bathroom,” says Sid, yet it comes out half like a question. 

Andy’s brain shorts out, his head swimming. “I–” he starts, swallowing hard as Sid’s mouth moves down the curve of his neck, the pace maddening. “Um.” 

Andy giggles and once he starts he can’t stop. He never would’ve predicted this, still unsure it’s not some marijuana-induced dream, until Sid goes still against him and grits out, “The fuck, Davis?” before pulling away. 

The hurt in his eyes is visible for only a moment before he masks it completely, eyes hard and angry, but it’s more than enough to sober Andy. 

He reaches for Sid as he pulls away, heart racing. “No, hey, I wasn’t –” Sid jerks out of his grip so Andy tries again, catching one fingerless-gloved hand in his own, words tumbling from his lips in a rush. “I’ve wanted you since I was 15, man, why would I laugh at you now?”

Sid stops jerking away and just stands there, arm limp as Andy holds his hand awkwardly, staring at him. 

There were a lot of times, before Andy became popular and stopped dreading going to school, that he’d wish the ground would swallow him up. This was absolutely one of them. 

He pulls his hand away, then runs it through his own hair. “Yeah, no, I didn’t mean to say that.” 

Sid is still staring at him, mouth comically open now, before he starts laughing himself. Andy glares at him. 

“Oh man, Davis, for real, how do you survive?” 

Andy glares some more and is about to just walk away from all of this when Sid steps in close. Andy looks the small distance down at him, feels his heart starting to race again, this time in nothing like panic. 

Sid leans in close again, his mouth hot on Andy’s neck when he says, “I used to want to climb through your bedroom window on my route and lick your hipbones.” 

Andy stops breathing. His neck is blood hot where Sid’s mouth is and his dick is harder than he can remember in along time. 

Too quickly Sid is stepping back, smirk back in place. “There, now we’ve both embarrassed ourselves.” 

Andy opens his mouth, but Sid grabs him by the elbow and steers them toward the house. “C’mon, all this sexual tension is killing me.” 

Andy’s earlier giggles return in a rush as they stumble up the back porch, feeling giddy and reckless and like he’s someone else right now, like he’s at college still, where everyone is new to him and he doesn’t have to think about things like appearances or consequences or small town suburbia where he thought he could never have this, yet Sid did. Sid has. 

It makes him hold onto Sid when they trip over each other's sneakers and not let go. It makes him pull Sid down onto the porch swing and fit their mouths together, nothing more than a clash of clumsy teeth because Sid clearly wasn’t ready for him. 

“Get a room, you homos,” comes a voice to their left and oh, they’re not as alone out here as they thought. Andy scrambles toward the far side of the swing and Sid flops off him to glare at the guy who is making out with some girl. 

“What, like the one you have?” 

The kid, someone Andy’s never seen before who definitely looks like he’s still in high school, rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man, no one wants to see that shit.” 

Sid stands up, walks over to the kid so he’s menacing over him. “How bout you go fuck yourself.”

“Sid, c’mon,” Andy whispers, tugging the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Yeah, _Sid_ , listen to your girlfriend.” 

The girl hits the kid at that. “Knock it off, Charlie.” 

Charlie doesn’t listen, though and stands up, the two of them squaring off on the porch. 

Sid’s got a few inches on the kid, which makes him laugh. “Seriously, kid, why don’t you beat it.” 

“Nah, I don’t think I’ll listen to a fag and his pretty boy boyfriend, thanks,” he says, obnoxious as fuck and even though Andy was thinking how he’d like to punch the smirk off the kid’s face, he wouldn’t ever have done it. Sid does though. Twice. 

“Sid!” Andy says, jumping up and pulling him back. “C’mon, quit it.” 

Charlie manages to get in a shot to Sid’s stomach, but Sid just pulls back and clocks him again, this time to the side of his jaw, sending him sprawling back onto the porch swing while his girlfriend shouts and Charlie presses his fist to his bloody nose. 

Andy pulls Sid along with him into the house and through the kitchen, off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. 

“Jesus christ!” Andy shouts, turning his heels to find Sid leaning back against the door, breathing hard, one hand on his ribs where Charlie hit him, the other running through his hair. “What were you thinking?” 

“I was thinking that homophobic shitbag got what was coming to him.” 

Andy sighs, shaking still from the adrenaline. “You shouldn’t just – go punching people who insult you.” 

Sid scoffs, pulling off one of his gloves. His knuckles are bruised and bloodied, the skin broken. “Please, like I give a shit what people say about me.” He’s looking at his hand like it’s a problem to solve, chewing on his lip, hair falling in front of his eyes. 

“Well if you don’t –” Andy starts and then cuts himself off because, oh. 

Sid blinks up at him, like he just realized what he said. “Fuck, man, I’m just – stoned, whatever.” 

Andy grins at him, any irritation he had being replaced by – well, heat. The thought of Sid being protective, of him wanting to stick up for Andy when they’ve hardly ever been in one another’s orbit and they’re barely in it now, is – attractive as fuck. 

“Right,” Andy says, still grinning. 

Sid rolls his eyes, lets his head drop back against the door. “Oh, fuck off,” he says, but he’s smiling too, a small one, just at the corners of his mouth. 

Andy gets his boldness from before back, spurred on by Sid’s twitching mouth. He steps in close, takes Sid’s hand, brushes the pads of his fingers over Sid’s knuckles. He doesn’t think he imagines Sid’s shiver at the touch. 

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Andy says finally, after the only sound that’s been between them was their own breathing and the muffled music coming from the living room. 

“Mmm?” Sid asks, tilting his head at Andy, those eyes staring right through him. 

“Me in the bathroom,” Andy replies, smiling slowly. 

Sid barks out a laugh, leaning his head back again, eyes drifting shut. “Yeah. Guess I did.” 

Andy gets drops of blood on his fingers from Sid’s hands. He stares at them, mesmerized, until he feels Sid’s eyes on his again. Something shifts, becomes heavy and serious and it’s suddenly the most important thing he’s ever done when he leans in slowly, ever so slowly, and touches his mouth to Sid’s. 

It’s nothing like the earlier collision of lips. It’s deliberate and weighted, vital. He nips at Sid’s bottom lip, the corner of his mouth where that genuine smile tries to escape, the dip of his upper lip. 

“Fuck,” Sid breathes out when they part, before hauling Andy back in with his unmarred hand, fingers sliding over his spine and to the small of his back, dipping beneath the hoodie, _Sid’s_ hoodie. 

Andy tries and fails to not tremble when those fingers find bare skin, stroking ever so lightly. He gasps and then Sid’s tongue is inside his mouth and Andy’s pressing him up against the door, needing to be closer, so much closer. 

Sid lets out a low whine and his nails dig into Andy’s back while he kisses him harder, enough to bruise. Andy wants it all, will take any mark Sid can leave on him, enough to carry with him back to school. 

Andy’s not sure how long they kiss for. Enough for his lips to feel swollen, for his legs to tremble. They rock together, and the feel of Sid’s dick against his almost enough to make him come if they keep it up much longer. Instead, Andy slides to his knees and onto the floor of his friend’s bathroom, about to blow Twin Falls High’s resident bad boy. 

Except Andy’s not in high school anymore and neither is Sid and those labels suddenly feel so cumbersome. 

“Shit, oh shit,” Sid breathes out, low and surprised when Andy undoes his jeans and presses his face to his boxers, inhaling and nuzzling along the heat there. “Fuck,” he adds, drawing the word out when Andy pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to lick at his dick before closing his lips around the head. 

Sid’s fingers twist in Andy’s hair, tangling in it at the nape and pushing a little closer. It’s the hand without the glove and a thrill goes through him at the thought of Sid’s bloody knuckles bending in effort to guide him. The reminder that Sid hit someone for him makes moan, and he should feel ashamed of that but all he feels is needy and desperate and all he wants is to make this the best Sid’s ever had, even though he knows it’s probably a long shot. 

Except Sid is groaning and breathing hard, fingers pulling on Andy’s hair but still being careful and Andy can only grip smooth hips and pull him that much closer, suck him harder and faster. 

“Oh fuck, Davis. Andy. Andy, shit,” and then Sid’s coming and Andy’s swallowing as much as he can while the rest spills over down Sid’s cock. He follows it quickly with his mouth, lapping up the salty fluid and moaning like he can’t get enough, because it’s the truth. 

“Jesus christ, get up here,” Sid growls, pulling Andy up by the string of his hoodie. 

Andy stumbles against him and then he’s being kissed, no he’s being _consumed_ , Sid stealing his breath and spinning Andy so his back is against the wall. He undoes Andy’s jeans, just enough to slide a hand inside and pull his dick out through the slit of his boxers. Andy gasps and it isn’t until Sid brings his hand up to cup Andy’s jaw and kiss him again - his left hand - that he breaks away and says, “you’re hurt, you’re gonna –” 

But Sid just cuts him off and kisses him harder, continuing to jack him off with his right hand. Andy can feel the tender pieces of skin of his knuckles slide against his dick as Sid twists his wrist and jerks him faster. It makes his balls tighten, makes him come in two seconds flat, Sid’s tongue in his mouth while he receives the dirtiest handjob he’s ever gotten. 

Sid finally pulls back, sucking on Andy’s lip lewdly before wiping his hand with some tissues near the sink. 

Andy slumps against the wall, knees bent, dick still hanging out; at least Sid managed to pull his own pants up, Andy’s operating on a half functioning brain, sex dumb and pot-idled. 

As if reading his mind, Sid smirks at him as he tosses the tissues into the toilet before flushing. “That’s a good look for you, Davis.” 

Andy bristles a little, something sharp in Sid’s voice and smile that he can’t quite place but he doesn’t like. 

Sid tosses him some tissues carelessly and Andy catches them against his stomach, mumbling, “Guess I’m only Andy when you’re coming, huh.” 

He doesn’t mean it to sound so flat and – pissy, but he can’t help it, since he’s also been here before, with a guy who tosses him aside before he’s even finished gasping, like he felt it was a necessary course of action when Andy probably wouldn’t have even asked for the guy’s number anyway. Preemptive strike. 

The only difference is, if Sid were the one doing it, Andy would actually care. 

His words seem to catch Sid by surprise, Andy having been braced for the cutting remark. Instead, Sid just stares at him kind of blankly, before stepping in and taking over cleaning up Andy’s stomach and buttoning his pants for him. 

“You got jizz on my hoodie,” Sid says, trying to sound put out and mostly failing. He’s looking down and dabbing at it, frown on his face, eyebrows creased. 

Andy tries and fails to not stare at him, the blush still staining his cheekbones, the hair that covers his forehead, the zit low on his left cheek. 

“Shouldn’t have given it to me then,” Andy says. 

Sid hums and finishes the rest of his task in silence. 

When he tosses the tissues away and flushes the toilet again, he turns to Andy. 

“First names are for dudes who aren’t going back to school in a month, not one night stands at a house party.” 

Andy thinks about the gentle way Sid cleaned him just now, the way he kissed him before he came, hand on his face, fingers splayed. 

“So see me another night.” 

Sid scoffs, looking away. “C’mon, Davis, don’t be dumb, I know you’re not.” 

“I’m not being dumb. Look, I’m not sayin’ – I just wanna see you again.” 

Sid looks at him out of the corner of his eye, warily. “Why?” 

Andy shrugs, more casual than he actually feels right now. “I like the creative types,” he says, putting the smile in his voice. 

Sid laughs and shakes his head in that way that's already become familiar to Andy, like he's saying “you're kinda nuts but I think I like you.” Andy knows that feeling pretty well himself. 

“Sowing those wild oats now, huh?”

“Sure, if that's what you wanna hear,” Andy says, voice agreeable. He’ll let Sid believe whatever he wants if it means getting his phone number before this night ends. 

Sid says nothing for so long – finally washing the cuts on his knuckles before putting his glove back on – that Andy’s about to admit defeat. 

Then he turns and says, “Okay but I don't do – dates. That dinner and a movie shit, that ain't me.” 

Andy tries to hold back the smile threatening to split open on his face. “No dinners or movies, got it.”

Sid frowns. “I mean we gotta eat and shit, I just mean no restaurants and all that.”

Andy can't restrain the smile this time. “I get it, Sid. We can eat pizza and make out on your couch.”

Sid nods, looking satisfied. “And, well, Pizza Planet, I guess. That doesn't count.”

Andy laughs, hauling Sid in for a kiss and feeling more confident in that action than he would've dreamed an hour ago. 

Suddenly, being home doesn't feel so weird. Suddenly it feels exactly where he's meant to be right now.

[end]


End file.
